Not long ago, I was sitting at a table with a small group of women, enjoying blueberry scones on lovely china plates. We drank our coffee out of mugs, but could all remember a time when coffee was served in lovely china cups with matching saucers. We also acknowledged how rarely we used fine china these days or fine anything—crystal, silver, linens.
Our hostess gestured at her tall wooden cabinet, full of elegant stemware—different sizes for every purpose. “Service for twelve,” she said and we nodded, thinking of all the wedding gifts we had stored away. Stored away for years.
“When I was a girl,” I said, “It was my job to polish the silver.” I could remember sliding each knife and fork and spoon out of its flannel sleeve. Dipping the moist sponge into a jar of polish, rubbing away the tarnish, buffing up the shine.
“My children don’t want the china,” our hostess said. Nobody’s children wanted any of it or their children. Life is so different now, so casual—with open living spaces instead of formal dining rooms. With take-out and pizza and paper plates.
“I think it’s probably a good thing,” I said and everyone agreed. But we sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the world turning, to the faint chime of crystal goblets.
